Meeting Père “Ra”

By the end of 2007, my life took on a new direction.  I started meeting people of all background and life styles with a different outlook, topic and purpose.    I was also being approached by different organizations all having one thing in common; the need for a drastic change and was I the person able to impart that change?

My time now was divided between social and political activities.  It was important that I kept the two at odds, although difficult to do, due to a certain similarity but separating the individual from the organization he represented was easy.  In essence once again I became an advocate of the people with a total different possible outcome.  As timid as I was, my popularity escalated despite the quiescence I imposed on the work of my supporters.  Now that I had a new purpose, I was forced to have at least two body guards in my company at all times which in my own way I found to be ridiculous.  To them it was maybe the lifestyle they wanted me to project but to me it was an anticipated complex of superiority that I could not bear.  Maybe it was a step that all aspiring political candidates had to go through. 

In a desperate search for transportation, a young man of a curious background offered to assist me in finding couple used automobiles.  He took me to Martissant to look at two good used cars as he so described.  The owner, an older well mannered gentleman was a bit disturbed as he without any reserves informed that he was unable to welcome anyone to his home without previously being announced.  However, there was something different about me he said that he will make an exception.  He invited me into his home, to his living room where he offered me to be as comfortable as I could be.  A bit bizarre but honored, I began to congratulate him for an impressive painting collection I could not avoid myself from noticing.  He was very tranquil and deep in his thoughts as he began sharing with me historical and mystical revelations of our native country.  When you walked through my gate he said, I had no choice but to welcome you.  You see, you have embarked in this new vision and you will have to be extremely careful he said as he leaned on his cane to weight out his words. "It will be awfully challenging for this President (Rene Preval) or the next President to be as our country will be severely hit by an earthquake or a tsunami.  You will need to start planning construction early enough in high mountains and urge people to leave the flat land areas and the capital to prevent the extermination of the lives of many thousands citizens while we will watch astounded and in fear the destruction of our institutions".  I listened to him in stillness, cold and speechless.  His mystic or psychic ability to speak with such calmness put me in touch with my inner self and I was forever convinced to purse the course I was in.  Just before I left, I asked him if I could get a photograph of us as a souvenir.  He kindly accepted but requested his picture not to reach any media or exposed to public view at any condition. 

I left dazzled and pleased as if I just met an angel with golden white beard.  It was a few minutes later while traveling in direction to Carrefour I realized that Père Ra and I never said a word about used cars.   

Béchelet/First proposal

During the same year of 2006, I received a visit from Béchelet, a friend of mine; a brother, a mentor who has been trying for couple years since 2004 for me to play a role in the political arena.  I would always give him the same refrain but this time he was not about to hear it.  He was accompanied by representatives from different Department and supported by other people from the West.  They were very compelling with their exposé and I was too humble to refuse and too weak to run.  As they talked, I questioned God the same way I did in 1994.  If it was God’s wishes for me to be an antagonist in Haiti’s political history, I was ready to take on the challenge and bear that flame to the highest point to bring about the change Haiti has been struggling to reach since 1804. It was almost with acquiescence I said yes to the invite if that was the wish of the people.   From that point on, an underground campaign was set in motion.

Béchelet and I have a long history together.  While he was very visible helping the Lavalas Movement and a great fan of Aristide, I was by political default doing the same thing helping the disadvantaged while working in Cite Soleil, Belair, Grande Ravine and other destitute communities in the Capital and in the provinces.  Béchelet while being a handicap, victim of political hatred never stopped fighting for the cause of the forgotten.  He was a non selfish individual giving his life and all for the cause of Aristide and most importantly for the cause of the Haitian people.  He was tireless, never complained of his physical disability while being carried, wheeled or dragged if need be.  Being the contact man for Aristide, he was very often in charge of public motivations but was also very often taken advantage by many.  He never kept a cent for himself; he always gave it all to assure the success of his political beliefs.  I wanted so badly to help him get some mobility.  I managed to get his medical record, even arranged for special surgery for him in the US but he opted to continue his fight on behalf of Aristide’s return and rejected all hopes of getting him a better life.  Today, Béchelet is as poor as he was and forgotten by all.   

Nevertheless, he was an inspiration for me and never ceased one day to urge me to go one step ahead as if I do, I could help him and so many more Haitians.

I began to be more coherent and left it all in the divine hands. 

Nothing but fear.

As I continued working in different communities in the different Departments, I began to realize that the country was contaminated with a bacterium of dependency, reinforcing an ever ending poverty with no way out. Those able to escape at the risk of losing their lives would do it without hesitation and unfortunately would perish braving the Atlantic Ocean trying desperately to reach another Caribbean island or the southern coast of the US.  Terrible choices one had to make from desperation looking for a better life and those able to leave legally would do so with a one way ticket with no special interest in the country except to financially support a family member with no other string attach. 

I could hear echoing an entreaty for me to enter the political life from the people I was serving, and who I was to even think that I could do more than what I was doing.  The struggle persisted for years despite all the requests and suggestions and one hot summer day in 2006, I grasped finally the rationale why I wanted to do nothing with politics.  It was fear and nothing but fear and in the meantime, I was seen as a valiant man bold enough to walk and work in areas fear by most.

If I was cultivating any idea to change the lives of these people with a long term outcome, certainly a more concentrated actions would have to take place to incite in all the need to alter and this change would have to start from within, starting with me.  

Political bashfulness, the intuitive struggle

The more I was being questioned, the more I began to ponder and reflect on the subject.  However, I looked at myself as politically introvert and started on to become conscious as far as why.

My political experience as a distant observer was more terror than restraint.  Growing up under the Duvalier’s regime as an onlooker and not as a participant was fearful enough to know that politic was reserved to a special breed and I at any time of my life would think of joining such club.  Of course, lack of pure knowledge, interest or perhaps knowledge of victimized parents, friends or families will certainly keep anyone away.    Like many Haitians I had, and I say it very loud, the opportunity to leave Haiti, seeking a better life and opportunities.  I left and had no plans to ever come back and the reason was more political than it was economical, it was in 1975 I recalled.  My understanding of Haitian politics was overshadowed by my own experience which I know was far less fearful and cruel than many other Haitians living abroad.  I knew subsequently and even now that politic was not for me and it meant something totally different than what it really is.  I did not want to think about it and often refuted these subliminal reminiscent recalls.  

I evoked during a recess in a Florida Teachers Conference in 1987, a “white” young female teacher who was outrageous to find out that I was Haitian, Chairman of a Foreign Language Department in a Southern school district, teaching “white” students instead of teaching in Haiti, helping my own compatriots.  She had such a compelling argument that I could not justify to her and those present my true motives to be in the US rather than in Haiti.  She sent me home to Georgia where I lived then, thinking and wondering about my own country to which I turned my back to.  I tried very hard to keep her out of my mind for many years and for that same many years I was not successful until that day in 1994, the year I finally saw Haiti as truly my home almost two decades later. 

I came back and now engaged in a totally different mission but politic.  I noticed however that I was running away from it while I was facing and skirmishing the reasons why I should be involved with it.

Marie Carmelle’s near death accident

After the roguish actions of the Mayor and his staff fraudulently causing us the loss of our Head Quarter in Morne a Bateau, we temporarily settled in Leogane where we continued to establish ourselves as advocates for the needy.  It was indeed a demanding time for us especially after we suffered this great financial undeserved defeat.  This was also a time to realize that we were surrounded by loyal volunteers whom stood fast despite the calamity we endured.

On a search for a larger property one evening, accompanied by four of our staff members, we were driving eastward on the National Route # 2.  Our Tap tap hired driver apparently did not estimate the speed of the vehicle that was behind us when he made that heartrending left turn that could have caused us our lives.  Like all experienced driver, I immediately looked at the upcoming traffic for clearance and I saw that car coming straight at us like a bullet and had time to only scream “hold on” as I quickly grabbed with both hands the ceiling hand rails of the tap tap.  It was unfortunately too late for the other volunteers as they had no ideas what was about to happen.  Within seconds we were violently side strike with a big “bang, skidding tires and screams”.  Luckily the taxi did not overturn but severely bounced from both sides and was literally shoved into the opposite side of the road.  I was dazed and confused while I was trying to assess everybody’s condition.  Marie Carmelle was missing and some twenty feet away, a crowd was forming around an inert body in the street.  That was her, our Welcome Committee Director who was propelled out onto the street and whose body was   miraculously landed in a not so forgiven dirt road.

She was not responding, not breathing and apparently lifeless.  Something had to be done quickly.  In the mean time the crowd was getting larger and larger and nothing was making sense.  I called for help in an inaudible voice and began to hear the muffled mixed sounds of a non sense horde of curious people.     I began mouth to mouth resuscitation with the assistance of someone whom I do have a very hazy memento.  It was a man, someone from the neighborhood who thereafter helped us transport her in a pickup truck to the nearest hospital.  “Nearest hospital”, I said.  I was, facing with my own tragic case on a pickup truck, looking for a non existing “Nearest Hospital”, here I was experiencing what every single Haitian faces every day; the need for a near urgent care that we will never reached.

The driver of the pickup stopped at the Commissariat of Gressier and sadly announced that’s as far he will go, the police should take it from there...  In the mean time, I was watching this lady’s life fading away, caught in Haiti’s struggle for development and a better life for all.  Lucky should I say we were when couple policemen suggested taking us to Port-au-Prince conditionally.  By now, I understood all innuendos and was not about to discuss ethics.  Once again we moved her still body into the police pickup and began the emergency trip that apparently would have saved her life.  At mid way, with the siren blasted, going through in and out traffic in pot holes, on sidewalks and back onto the streets, her lips budged and few seconds later her eye lids began to release.  I looked at the sky, grateful and beseeching.

We arrived in Martissant where I noticed a hospital “Doctors without borders”.  She was quickly admitted and stabilized. I was thankful to these police officers, despite the unethical condition under which I had to accept their assistance.

Pledge not to dither

For some unexplained reasons, I became closer and closer to the Haitian people as I worked alone without the international or the Haitian Government support with those different communities throughout the country.  I travelled extensively in the different Departments and dispatched Mobile Clinic teams everywhere there was a need or a request.  I was focused in one or two target areas, mainly in the West.  However the more I travelled the mountainous tropical land from far North East to the South, the more I realized that the country was plagued with a striking poverty, killing slowly these resigned natives.

I began to see the country somewhat differently than I did before and the people began to see me to some extent differently as well and the questions began.  Are you some kind of a candidate?  Only a candidate will go to the extent of doing what I was doing, I was often told.  Politic, I often replied, was not my strong suit, nor my interest, but social was.   

My social life as I see it was a calling, not a choice.  I could not possibly deviate from it unless it was a continuum of the wishes of the great divine.

My daughter’s first visit to Haiti and the indescribable fright she never knew

Like many immigrant Haitian parents, my wife can be best described as an eye witness of atrocities as she was growing up that will keep her of Haiti for the rest of her life unless major changes would happen in development, concept an attitude that would convince her otherwise.  Notwithstanding from this fact, I had a tough time convincing her of Joanne’s travel approval to Haiti and Joanne in her own way had to win the rite of passage.

It was during the summer 2005, my daughter landed in my country and what a thrill it was for me to have her as my special guest.  The Welcome Committee at Operation Hope modest Head Quarter gave her a princess welcome.  She was having the time of her life unaware of the ghastly and potent news surrounding Haiti at that time.   I was certainly confident but yet over protective as I will not let her of my site and kept her tranquil so she would have Haiti as the best and unforgettable travel experience while she played a small role in Dad’s life struggle to help the deprived.   I must admit that I could hear mammy’s voice at all times and never ceased to feel that I took an engagement that I could not fail.  So, in essence I had the fifth sense to take time off my daily trips to risky areas and never actually introduced her to anyone as my daughter except to a few closed loyal volunteers I could trust.  That was bloodcurdling; I was becoming my wife in thought and spirit. 

I took Joanne south of the country where we enjoyed walking in a river bank, wandering through banana fields, breathing pure country fresh air and talking and playing with the natives, cows and goats.  We drove up the mountains, a site we will treasure for ever as I wanted to soar with her to enjoy from above the beauty   
 

 
of this endearing land.  We ended up in Jacmel, a city full of history that reminded her of a cinematographic set in which I am sure she was probably actively playing a role only her could describe.  We left Jacmel at twilight as we were both fascinated in the picturesque views the mountainous outlines offered us at the horizon and at every turn.  By the time we reached Leogane, it was murky with only the stars in the sky and a few traffic lights with the estrange awareness that there was no night life in the country.  A few distances from us, there were a MINUSTAH check point and of course she wandered why.  As we passed, I identified myself and we were waved through as we did to maybe to three more check points before we reached our Head Quarter.  We were hungry but not too tired and decided to have late dinner in Pétion-Ville where I invited a Journalist friend to join us.

Night life in Port-au-Prince especially during these political crises and uncertainties is feared by all but could be safer than actual day time due to the heavy presence of the MINUSTAH forces and a few police officers.   The lack of or the absence of electricity, can have a terrifying effect on the not so familiar visitors.   The advised and the over protective guide I was, made me always ready to explain and pacify any possible stupor that could possibly ruin the moment.  Pétion-Ville offered her a totally different site she expected.  She felt in her mantle enjoying a beautiful night life under the dark skies of Haiti.

During dinner, my journalist friend confined in me and quietly of dangerous and kidnapping activities being brought about me by close acquaintances and even had evidence that she restrained to present.  However she was convincing enough that I had to make an onsite lonely and irrevocable decision.  Unaware of the dialogue that took place, Joanne undeniably enjoyed a perfect night out, a good meal, couple punches, dialect blunders and laughter.  The trip back to the Head Quarter was as normal as it could be to her as she understood and had hands on experience on the security the MINUSTAH’s and the police officers’ presence offered to these communities.  Mammy’s voice was getting louder and louder in my subconscious non fearful mind and I was getting silently frenzied as we travelled through the night.  My imagination was playing the better part of me.  It was a relief when we finally arrived.  Joanne went to bed comfortably and peacefully while I ordered my security team to double on its alertness for the rest of the evening. 

At dawn, I had it all worked out, I would have to literally extradite my daughter out of this country without trepidation or inconvenience.   The airline company was already advised of the change and a sit was confirmed.  Due to an unforeseen and urgent situation beyond my control, we had to cut short your vacation I explained.  She was disappointed but very understanding and compliant.  The staff was saddened to see her leave so unexpectedly.  She became in a short period of time a mentor and a friend to all of them.  Swimming in the ocean will never be the same and those “UNO “card games will never be as fun as when she was playing.

That morning, my phone uncontrollably kept ringing and for the first time, I had no intention to answer any of those phone calls.  The trip to the airport was unusually long despite the expected rush hour traffic.  My anxiety was at its pick when most of these phone calls were coming from people not too common to call me so repeatedly.  I was reading through the waves and was getting ready to face whoever it may have been, but first and foremost, my daughter would have to leave this land.  Finally at the airport, I checked her in and had time to have breakfast with her.  There was a sense of serenity as I know the chances for anything to happen there, was far more less than anywhere else.  I sought special authorization from the airlines to accompany her to the airplane and with great delight and contentment I watched the door close as I said goodbye to my sweet and charming daughter.

As painful it was to see her leave so early, as delightful it was to watch the plane slowly turning on the tarmac and positioned for a great take off to civilization and tamed free will.